Enigma
by JayBee-Bug
Summary: Teenage Rupert and Ethan. Stream-of-consciousness fic. Small doses of implied slash.


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Title: Enigma

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Author: JayBee

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Rating: PG-13

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Spoilers/Setting: If you've made it past 'The Dark Age', you're fine. 

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Feedback: jaybee_bug@yahoo.com

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Summary: Teenage Rupert and Ethan. Stream-of-consciousness fic. Small doses of implied slash.

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Disclaimer: Rupert Giles and Ethan Rayne; not mine. *depressed sigh* Also, I may of taken a few minor creative liberties concerning Giles' past, but the gist is the same.

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It had become his guilty pleasure. At first it was an innocent curiosity, and he had in fact stumbled upon it through one of his teachers at school. He pursued it as a minor pet project, juxtaposing with his regular studies. Yes, you heard right--he studied all day long for work, and for fun, he studied too. But this turned out to be a very different kind of studying. An addictive, all-consuming one. The more he read, the more he wanted. It didn't take him long to be deeply entrenched in the topic, riding the thrilling waves of obsession to their peaks. He had never, in all his life, during all his studies or recreation, ever come across anything so . . . powerful. Anything that compelled him so completely. It was an exciting flirtation, a beautifully wretched dance, nearly awe-inspiring . . . and that was why he was spending more and more time on it. More and more often during lectures or during study, he'd find his mind wandering back to the dark, inviting recesses of his 'pet project'. He started rushing to get through his homework each day so he could sneak over to his bookshelf and cautiously pull an old, yellowed volume out of the shelf to leaf eagerly over. It was insane to compare it like this, but it was really starting to feel like a romance-- and wasn't that a bizarrely accurate description? Because their time together consisted of stolen moments; books hidden inside the covers of his regular schoolbooks . . . excursions to the library done in secrecy and extreme caution, were the books would be read there or smuggled in his jacket if he dared to bring one or two home with him . . . or after dark, reading by flashlight in bed, half-whispering the words out loud to himself and feeling his pulse leaping in his throat, heart hammering wildly from the simple power of the written words . . . yes, Rupert's pet project was like a fickle lover, one whom toyed with his mind coyly and murmured sweet nothings to his mind while he was trying to concentrate on work. And as was only suiting for star-crossed lovers, he was sure if the two of them were ever found out by his family . . . well, there would be Hell to pay. But never mind those troubled thoughts; he wouldn't be discovered. And if he was, well, maybe that was just their problem, not his. 

Of course, all of this was before he started practicing. The studying and book-smuggling were just the beginning. Rupert Giles smiled to himself, amused by his deeply nostalgic train of thought. He really had no idea were it was all headed, were he would end up. He could of laughed at his past-self, the naive student who was standing on the precipice of discovery, the kind that would alter his very base perceptions on the world around him. And what a fall it would turn out to be when he finally took the plunge. 

That was all pre-Ethan, of course. It was when he met Ethan and his circle of friends that Rupert began practicing. Took that great vault, that treasure trove of knowledge he had been amassing, and finally put it to some use. He couldn't remember now _why_ it never occurred to him before to start practicing magick-- why the thought never even occurred to him to actually participate in the rituals and spells that were so carefully, and in such vivid detail, described in his books, some of which he had completely memorized from start to finish and could recite out loud whenever he fancied. Maybe he had felt it was the sort of thing only particular people could do, a distant, far-off achievement that only people with certain skills, certain natural talents, were meant to do. Yes, an elite few-- not something that could be merely studied and achieved like at school. Not something you could become if you were simply willing to work hard enough for it. 

You could imagine his surprise then, of course, when Rupert had met Ethan and his ragtag group of followers. Ethan Rayne was an intriguing enigma of a person; and naturally, that fascinated the Hell out of Rupert. Enigmas were meant to pry apart and study, to ponder over and muse about, to wrap one's brain around, or get constantly confused trying to, anyway. Ethan never had failed to confuse him, that was for sure. 

The boy was younger than him by a couple years, a fifteen to Rupert's seventeen, and still rather immature in a lot of ways. And yet at the same time he could be very adult and serious--something in his eyes would flicker and change and he'd look ten years older, at least. Rupert was obviously intellectually superior, toting a lifetime's worth of studying and relentless training, as nothing less was expected from his family. While this was true, Ethan had actually been in practice with the dark arts ever since he was twelve, more or less. Most of his friends had been with him that long as well. 

The scruffy, low-browed teenager came from a completely different world Rupert came from, despite both of them living in the same place. Ethan knew the ropes. Ethan had this wonderfully endless reservoir of bitter, cynical hatred at the world. Ethan lived the rough life, and he loved every bit of it. When the two met, Rupert fell in love with Ethan's life. Ethan saw the powerful potential hidden beneath all of Rupert's upper-crust. It didn't take them long to start building an alliance. 

At first, Rupert was quite nervous and excited about actually implementing what he had been admiring at a distance for so long and joining in the ceremonies with Ethan's group. He was the awkward new kid, the stuffy prat that nobody else could understand why Ethan had let in at all. Naturally they were rough on him, the pecking order clearly dictating that it was a requirement to target and verbally victimize him on a regular basis, and perhaps that was why they _did_ let him hang around, just to have somebody to chew out. In fact, it was Ethan who was the most savage of all in these bullying games, the fun they had on Rupert's behalf--but there was something else he was very consistent with, and that was standing up for him. Ethan would never let his friends get too far in their victimizing, and faced up to the heavy-handed criticism and group rejection that was directed at both him and the new kid with an even keel. It seemed to be that the unspoken rule was that nobody was allowed to be too rough on the new kid-- except for Ethan. He reserved that exclusive right; he was the one who brought Rupert in, so he was the one who decided what was to be done with him. Having the Alpha's protection, while more detrimental than an advantage at times, was what let Rupert survive in the group. And eventually he did more than just survive. He began to thrive. 

The young Watcher-in-training began to tap into deep-rooted powers within him, ones he hadn't come close to imagining he could possess. While studying the occult in his spare time had started out as a hobby, an escape from school, and a way of getting some cheap thrills, it had begun to evolve into something much deeper. Rather than read about rebellion, he was becoming actively involved in it-- waist-deep in it, in fact. This did have it's unnerving qualities to it, but Rupert had been set on a track that he really doubted he could stop now if he tried. And he didn't want to, not really. He had struggled in the group and with practicing magick and had finally started getting the hang of it. Being a quitter just wasn't in his psychological makeup; the harder he worked, the harder he wanted to achieve. That quality was something that was driven into him since birth. 

Besides. He was getting better at it, a lot better, and getting his first taste of what magick, the actual act of spellcasting, was like. And God, did he like the taste. It was more powerful and awesome than he had ever imagined it to be. Rupert Giles had been led to the fountain of dark magicks, and drunk deep the elixir of power; and now, giddy and dizzy on it's effects, he thirsted for more. He seemed to have a natural talent for spellcasting once he had gotten over the initial difficulties, and was a fast learner. His furious rate of development as a spellcaster even surprised Ethan. Ethan always told him he was a natural; that's why he chose him. He said he could see the real Rupert behind the mask, and that it was just a matter of him finding his real self. 

"There you are, " he would drawl whenever Rupert had accomplished an impressive feat, whenever he made a leap in his magickal skills. He loved the way he said it, always in a tone that was a unique mixture of encouragement, excitement, and affection. Rupert was usually coming down from a pretty heady power-trip from the magicks when he received that acknowledgment, and it only served to add to the experience, a warm stab in his gut when Ethan's gravely voice would christen the moment as a sacred step. 

Those steps kept occurring with increasing frequency. And immerging from the shell, the cocoon of his former self, was a wickedly beautiful moth, one with expansive, ebony wings and marbled markings of orange and red. This was the new Rupert Giles, a powerful wizard, one who was fast earning the respect of all the dark coven's members. As Rupert rose to power, his relationship with Ethan shifted dramatically. The apprentice was becoming the master, and Ethan certainly wasn't going to let that go without a fight. Things became . . . complicated, very complicated, to break it down into a single word. It was around that time that Rupert's family had finally found out about his involvements, and he was forced to contend with a general sense of upheaval from all sides. He was getting crap from his parents and just about every extended family member he knew (and a few he didn't know existed prior to the discovery), he was getting crap from his teachers (due to his suffering grades), he was getting crap from Ethan, and everywhere he turned, seemed to be covered in crap, crap, crap . . . whether he liked it or not, he would have to be making some choices. Soon. Living in the fringe between two lives could only do for so long. There were some days were Rupert wasn't sure were he would be sleeping that night; it all depended on who was pissed off at him more at the present moment, his parents, his teachers, Ethan . . . of course it wasn't just a matter of them being "pissed off". Sometimes it was just uncomfortable being around some of them. So it also depended on Rupert's whim for that day, which people he felt more comfortable being around, which aspect of his life he felt like he belonged to, at least for that day. He spent his week shuttling back and forth between these different groups of people, restless and random as a moth bumbling about in the darkness. It was simply excruciating at times, being split in so many different directions, loving and hating so much of everything. Tough times. Those were certainly tough times. 

Rupert had been staring at the smoke gathering at the ceiling for the longest time, letting his thoughts drift in a manner akin to the vapor. Every once in a while he'd take a long, thoughtful drag of the mostly unused cigarette that lay clutched between his fingers, smoldering softly. He let the smoke out in a slow, deep exhale, which seemed to imply he was in a serene mediation. Ethan had been studying him attentively for some time now, and it was only now he chose to finally disturb the extended silence. 

"You've been awfully quiet. "

Rupert took a draft from his largely ignored cigarette, not looking up. 

"Been thinking, " he said, by way of explanation. 

The younger wizard turned his attention back to the small brown paper tubes he had been rolling up expertly on his lap and lining up in a row on the random piece of furniture next to the junky couch he sat on. It might have been a coffee table or even a bookcase, he didn't know what the Hell it was. 

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"Where'd you put the bloody fags, Ethan?"

"In the thing. "

"What thing?"

"The table-thing. "

"Which bloody table-thing?!"

"Next to the sodding couch!"

And from that point on, the piece of furniture had been known as 'the bloody table-thing'. All right, so Ethan had been neatly lining them up on the bloody table-thing, and was just now passing a half-dozen, but he was mostly doing it because he was bored out of his mind and it was an excuse to hang around Rupert. And wait for him to think of something to do. 

"Well don't strain yourself. "

Rupert made a sound that was probably a snort, but his eyes remained glassed over, still deep in his own internal world. Ethan began chewing on the end of one of the paper tubes. He was pondering whether he should bitch at Rupert to stop staring at the ceiling and get off his lazy ass. The rest of the coven was coming over in just a few hours and it seemed to take about a week to finally clear out all the teenagers from the apartment once they dropped by. They really should start preparing for the workings they were planning, or else it'd take even longer to get rid of all of them. 

On the other hand, Ethan could rarely just sit and watch Rupert, like he was right now. It was only because he was currently lost on one of his musing-trips that he could get away with it. 

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"Quit it. "

"Quit what?"

"Quit starin' at me. "

"I'm not. "

"Yeah you are. "

"What do you care?"

"It's creeping me out. "

. . . . . . 

"Stop starin' at me!"

"What the Hell? I stopped already, you arsehole. "

"Just turn the other way. "

"Alright, now you're being paranoid. "

He really wasn't surprised it creeped him out, he'd probably feel the same way if he ever caught Rupert doing it. Not that he'd ever do something like that anymore. But it wasn't like Ethan was getting all obsessive or sentimental or anything, he just wanted to watch Rupert's mind go to work. His brow would crease in deep concentration and he could imagine the gears working in his head, could practically see them turning behind his eyes. Rupert had once explained that he was taught the best way to learn was to watch, and seeing a wizard of his caliber go to work was a feast for the eyes. Damn his influence, if his stupid stuck-up schooling had actually yielded something useful. Damn him more if it had rubbed off on Ethan. Well, it was only one thing. 

"You think I'd still be there now?"

"What?"

Ethan spat out the tube, which he ended up chewing on too much during his pondering, and a fine powder was starting to spill out. He looked back over to Rupert who was still perched on the run-down, green easy chair (their favorite seat in the apartment) like some sort of king-of-the-garbage-heap. 

"If nothing had changed. Would I still be over at that pisspot college or not?"

Yeah, he had been doing some serious thinking over there. While it was somewhat entertaining to watch it also concerned Ethan occasionally. Too much thinking was definitely a bad thing. It wasn't often that he got like this, but when he did, it bothered Ethan. It reminded him too much of Mr. Giles, the guise he had once lived under. It was as if he were slipping into old habits, one of them definitely being he spent way too much time thinking. Of course it was very unlikely that this was really the case-- it just seemed that way. The idea of Rupert slipping now . . . was ludicrous. 

"I seriously doubt it, " Ethan drawled honestly, trying to twist the tip of the tube back together. Rupert 'mm''d and nodded vaguely at that, mind obviously still elsewhere. Ethan watched him, waiting to see if he'd say anything more, but he didn't. He decided to elaborate on what he meant. 

"They were twisting you into a shape you didn't bend into. It would of been only a matter of time before you'd . . . snap, " he said, the cigar-shaped tube popping open and spilling its contents all over the floor as he twisted it out of shape. He grinned, imagining what it would of been like; a Rupert Giles still trapped in his former existence, surrounded by people even more snively and pompous than he was ever trained to be, the dark hatred and lust growing by the hour inside him like a pressure cooker. He'd lash out eventually, probably go on a killing spree or a similar chaotic frenzy. Would have totally gotten locked away, but it would have been so _fun_ to watch. 

Ethan glanced up to see he was finally holding Rupert's attention. The older wizard appeared to have harbored a similar train of thought, because he gave one of his small, dark smiles. 

"I imagine so. I'd probably get myself killed rather quickly. "

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But not without taking quite a few down with me, first, seemed to be the clear implication of the comment. Ethan frowned slightly. He didn't consider that, but it was probably true that he'd more likely end up getting killed than just locked away. Hell, he'd no doubt prefer it. 

"I guess it's a good thing it went the way it did, then. "

Ethan's conclusion carried with it the hope of ending the stupid musing Rupert insisted on indulging in. And now he was dragging _him_ into the nostalgia trip. Jesus. 

"I guess so, " Rupert echoed, and it was only around now that Ethan realized he was trying to shut him up when he was basically saying that without him, he'd be locked up or dead by now, which was a backwards sort of way of complimenting him. That was almost like getting a holiday in your honor according to Rupert's standards. 

Ah, ok, well, he didn't have to shut up just yet, then . . . 

"Must of been my luck to happen 'cross you, then, wasn't it?"

Ethan Day was just declared a national holiday. He blinked, a little taken aback, but went with it. 

"Guess so. I must be your sodding lucky charm. "

Rupert smiled slightly at that and flicked his cigarette on the floor before getting up from his long-term perch, to pick his way across the messy floor towards the back room. 

"No, you're really not, " he said in a stodgy tone. He had to kick a few couch cushions and other crap out of the way so he could open the door. It looked like he was just going to leave on that note, but he tossed in one last comment without turning around. 

"You're my enigma. "

Ethan stiffened at the casual use of the phrase. It was a pet name of sorts, but Rupert hadn't used it for ages. Something about the tension in the air made Ethan turn around very cautiously. Behind him, Rupert still lingered in the doorway. And he was watching him, a hard gaze with his blue-green eyes, and suddenly Ethan decided that letting the Ripper mull over his memories wasn't such a bad thing. In fact he was quite welcome to do it more often, if he'd like.


End file.
